In Willow's Defense
by Vashti
Summary: What's going on with Willow? Her dreams can't be real, can they?
1. Mer Girl Was

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and whole lot of other folks own BTVS and A:TS stuff. I'm a lowly po' college student. "Mer Girl" by Madonna from the _Ray of Light_ LP. I took a very, very small liberty with one of the words. Forgive me Madonna. 

Spoiler: "Flooded" 

Couples: W/A/S 

Distribution: Fire & Ice Archive, my website. Anyone else just ask. 

Dedication: To Karen and her "Make a Wish" story from the OzMIA list. 

Author's Note: A work in progress . . .to say the least. And unbeta'd 

§§§ 

Mer Girl Was 

_I ran from my house_

_that cannot contain me_

_from the man that I cannot kill_

_from my mother who haunts me_

_even though she's gone_

_from my daughter that never sleeps_

_I ran from the noise and the silence_

_from the traffic on the streets_

_I ran to the treetops_

_I ran to the sky_

_out to the lake_

_into the rain_

_that matted my hair _

_and soaked my shoes and skin_

_hid my tears, hid my fears_

The rushing, hollow sound of her panting was loud in the witch's ears. Paused for a moment besides a tree she was too scared to remember some bit of helpful magic, let alone try any. Besides, her greatest strength had already failed her, utterly. 

She was running. Running toward safety, freedom -- maybe. She was caught in this wild game, in a web of her own making. It felt as though things would never change, that no one would notice, that she would run forever. 

Goddess, it was like she was drowning and no one cared. With every step her heart pounded louder in her chest, the sound of rushing blood filled her ears. She didn't hear the slapping of her feet so much as feel it in her bones. Though she knew she'd set a pounding pace -- her sides screamed in agony -- it was if every step were slow and measured, jarring her with each motion. 

_I ran to the forest_

_I ran to the trees_

_I ran and ran_

_I was looking for me_

She was going to be sick. Her stomach turned and roiled in protest. This was too much. Tongues of fire raced through her legs, begging oxygen, as her lungs burned. She wanted to fall down and cry, simply heave wrenching sobs until the pain stopped. She knew that even if _she_ stopped at that very moment the pain wouldn't. 

(_Besides they were following her_.) 

An ache would start, cramping her calves, moving up her thighs, encompassing her entire chest, but if that meant she could stop moving it was a price worth paying. 

Soft fingers closed on her neck. No! She shook her head. It was her imagination warning her against falling behind, reminding her what lay there. Memories of it followed her sleeping thoughts and plagued her waking dreams. A childhood lullaby ran through her head. In some way it was even more frightening than the imagined hands around her neck, knowing that they'd invaded her most intimate memories. 

But why were they chasing her? What had she done wrong? She had done everything right. _Everything_ right. She'd done what no one else was willing to do, what no one else could have done. But those were their voices behind her -- no silent hunters tonight. 

It seemed they were the only three playing games in the cemetery. All else had fled in terror. She was fleeing too. 

There was harsh laughter some yards away. A wild whoop answered. How long could she keep her advantage over them or where they merely toying with her like dark and light feral cats toying with a vole in a rare show of camaraderie before tearing it to shreds -- and eating it? 

Shuddering at her thoughts her feet found a new fire. She could almost imagine steam rising from them as they pounded into the wet earth of the cemetery. It had rained all day and part of the night. Now the clouds raced overhead denying her even starlight to find her way. If only they would part then she could see where she was going. 

They wouldn't, they couldn't, tear her a part. Could they? Would they? She would laugh at herself if this weren't a life and death situation. Goddess, why where they chasing _her_? And how could _they_ be chasing her? Unless . . .unless . . . 

"Ah!" She tripped and nearly fell. 

One good thing from all this running, her hair was finally dry. She laughed bitterly to herself. 

"There!" 

"Let's go!" 

"Come here little Willow-" 

"-no use running-" 

"-you know we're going to catch you-" 

"-so why are you running?" 

Willow wasn't sure what was more unnerving, that they were following her or that they were finishing each others' sentences. Sentence. 

Another hysterical laugh broke free. A hyena-like one answered her. She moaned in agony. 

"If you want us so much, pet, why are you running?" 

"She likes the chase as much as we do, my boy." 

They were getting closer. Willow just didn't understand. She had done everything right. She had done everything right, hadn't she? 

_I ran past the churches_

_and the crooked old mailbox_

_past the apple orchards _

_and the lady that never talks_

_Up into the hills_

_I ran to the cemetery _

A shriek escaped her. She'd run full-tilt into a tombstone. Go figure. She'd barely heard, "Oh, scream for me more baby" so much as saw - 

"Joyce," she whispered. 

_and held my breath_

_and thought about your death_

Buffy's tombstone and empty grave was hidden nearby where the demons wouldn't find it. But there was no one there now. No one but Willow and her pursuers. 

They were so close. If they . . . oh goddess! 

Her mind had stopped comprehending a lot in the past -- she had no sense of time now. She didn't know who she was except she was Willow. She was Willow and she was alive and if she didn't keep running she wouldn't be for long. This was her reality. This was it, her world, her whole, her life and death, her existence. And the sound of her harsh breathing and the pounding of her heart in her ears, they were her all that was too. 

And the feet behind her, pushing, pounding, splashing, sucked into and pulling out of the saturated earth, they were the world too. 

The monoliths and cherubs and mausoleums and headstones of more shapes and sizes and colors and age were simply background. They were spectators in this mad dumb show. Except it wasn't dumb. 

Sometimes her ears heard more than the pulsing of her heart. "Willow! 

"Willow!" 

"Wiiillow!" 

"Willoow!" They called to her, they taunted her, until she couldn't tell one voice from another. 

_I ran to the lake_

_up into the hills_

_I ran and I ran_

_I'm looking there still_

_And I saw the crumbling tombstones_

_the forgotten names_

_I tasted the rain_

_I tasted my tears_

_I cursed the angels_

_I tasted my fears_

She bit her tongue to keep from crying out and tasted blood. Turning quickly to look behind her she nearly ran into the tall spire of an ancient tombstone. She grabbed it instead and clung on for dear life. Only a small rest, she promised herself. A small rest. Her throat was closing around itself. The tapering stone was slick with water, soaking her sleeve. She rested her head against the cold, wet stone, tempted to lick away what moisture remained. 

She seemed to cling there forever. There was a terrible hitch in her side. Her calves burned.Where were they?, she wondered. In this moment of peace her mind only knew terror. There was no way she could have outrun them. It wasn't possible. 

Willow swung her head from side to side, the still-wet tips of her hair sticking to her sweaty face in places. Silence. Utter silence. _Where were they?_, her mind cried. 

Fear made her push herself from the comfort of the cold stone. 

_And the ground gave way beneath my feet_

_And the earth took me in her arms_

Fear made her steps false. 

Willow plummeted into an empty grave crying to the night. The fall forced the air from her lungs. Leaves from the ground above fluttered over her. Sobs wracked her body. First the chase now this . . .now this. _Why?_ "WHY?!" she shouted into the ether. For the briefest moment she could see the moon. 

More leaves, a practical handful, fell onto her. The sky opened up without warning mixing with her tears. 

_Leaves covered my face_

_ants marched across my back_

_Black sky opened up_

_blinding me_

"We can tell you why, Pet." Willow shrunk deeper into the grave. Spike lay flat on his stomach, his head over the side. 

"That is what you want isn't it?" 

"Angelus," was her terrified whisper. 

Spike looked over at his sire, flat on his stomach like he. "You went all Angelus on me without saying anything, mate?" 

"You know I wouldn't do that. Sorry little Willow," he said turning his attention back to frightened girl, "no Angelus here. He'll be happy to know you care." 

Her eyes went wildly from one face to the other. Angel's long hair dripped water onto her face. Spike smiled madly at her, his platinum hair a dark gold and plastered to his head. "Ch-chip?" 

"Absolutely love," he knocked his head. "Intel still bloody well inside." 

"Oh." 

The vampires laughed. 

"But, but why?" 

"Why what, Pet?" 

"W-why the chase? Why do all this? W-why scare me like this?" she finished with a whisper barely heard over the falling rain. 

Spike looked at Angel. "Shall I or would you like the honors?" 

"I don't know. Maybe you should, Spike. We're supposed to bring her back alive." Willow shuddered. 

"You broke the rules, Luv. You messed with things beyond your bloody ken. Powers outside your control." 

"There are higher powers than what you understand," Angel growled. "You don't know what you've conjured or what you've released." 

"In short you've been a very, very bad girl." 

_I ran to the forest_

_I ran to the trees_

_I ran and I ran_

_I was looking for me_

_I ran to the lakes_

_and up to the hill_

_I ran and I ran_

_I'm looking there still_

"But I did what I had to," Willow cried in her defense. "I did what no one else could!" 

"Keep telling yourself that, Luv," Spike replied with a dark grin. 

The two vampires reached down and yanked her roughly from the open grave. "Ow!" Willow cried. It felt as if they'd tried to rip her arms from their sockets. Nothing happened. She looked expectantly at Spike. 

"Waiting for a mind-numbing headache are we? Waiting for me to fall in the bloody mud? Sorry, Pet, but you don't count as one of the good guys anymore. You should check your hats more often." She felt something lifted from her head. A comical, conical styrofoam hat was in Spike's hand white on the outside but darkest black inside. 

Willow was caught between the two, between light and dark. "What are you waiting for, little Willow," Angel growled. She could feel the rumble in her chest and Spikes answering laugh behind her. 

"No . . ." she moaned. She looked up at them again and was struck dumb by their game faces. "No." 

Laughing, they dragged the struggling redhead -- who in her terror seemed to forget she was a witch -- to her fate. 

§§§ 

"Willow, honey, are you okay?" 

The redhead turned to Tara. "Sure, why?" 

"Well you were tossing and turning a lot in your sleep is all. Did you have bad dreams?" 

Unsure how to answer she said, "Sort of. Unsettling is . . .is a not so bad word to describe it." 

"Aw, honey. You know I could make you a tea tonight that might help." 

Willow smiled gratefully. "Thanks Tara. I lo-- Buffy, you're up." 

_And I smelt her burning flesh_

_her rotting bones_

_her decay_

"Hey," she answered listlessly. 

"How'd you sleep?" 

Her answer was vague and noncommittal at best. "How 'bout you?" she asked pouring herself a glass of orange juice. 

Willow opened her mouth to lie far more completely than she had to Tara - 

"Morning everyone." 

Tara frowned. "What are you doing here, Spike. I thought you went home last night." 

Willow didn't hear them, her heart pounding like a trip hammer and her mouth dry with fear. 

"You all right, Red?" he asked, concerned. 

Her head whipped around. "I'm . . .I'm fine. I'm fine." 

_I ran and I ran_

_I'm still running away._

Fin   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Wait

Spoiler: "All The Way" 

Disclaimer: Joss and a whole lot of other folks own BTVS. I'm just a lowly po' college student who returns the toys she borrows. 

Couples: W/T 

IWD: Wait 

Willow stretched in the bed rolling her shoulders and arching her feet. Giggling to herself she rolled over, unconsciously hoping she was going the right way and didn't roll off the bed instead of facing her lover. Well, she thought, I didn't fall off so that's a plus. "Hey," she said, voice hoarse and eyes closed against morning's light, "I don't think my feet are cold anymore." There was no answer. 

"Tara? Tara?" Willow opened her eyes, suddenly afraid. "Tara," she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the blond. "Why didn't you answer me. I was worried." 

"You thought you could do it to me too?" 

"Huh? What?" 

"You thought you could make me forget? You thought you could control me? Own me?!" 

"No, Tara," Willow said emphatically. This was going all wrong. "It was nothing like that. I just wanted the fight to be over." 

"The fight would have been over when it was over, Willow!" Tara threw off the bedcovers flushing with anger. "What did you think you were doing? _Were_ you thinking?" 

"Tara, of course I was--" 

"You think you're so powerful you think you know so much. You think because you hurt Glory you're invincible. You are _not_ powerful. You know _nothing_!" 

Now Willow was angry. "I _am_ powerful, Tara. Yeah, I hurt Glory. I saved you. If, if it hadn't been for me you would still be in some loony-bin freaking out! _I_ was the one who raised Buffy--" 

"You shouldn't have done it, Will." 

"Excuse me, weren't you the one who encouraged me in the first place?" 

"It was wrong. I shouldn't have let you do it." 

The redhead smirked. "You didn't _let me_ do anything. You couldn't have stopped me if you tried." 

They were both kneeling now, facing each other, both as angry as the other. Tara stood, looming over her lover. "Who do you think would be more powerful, someone who stumbled onto Wicca or a natural witch?" she asked coldly. "I come from a line of witches. Every firstborn woman in my family is a witch. Who are you Willow? Who were you before I found you? Who would you have been if you hadn't found me?" 

Willow stood. "Who would _you_ have been?" she threw back, hot with anger. "You were a shy, sniveling little--" 

"SILENCE!" 

Willow fell back against the pillows. Instantly her fear returned. "T-Tara?" On her lips, she could see, were the beginnings of a spell. 

"You have tampered with things beyond your ken." 

"T-Tara?" The air around them began to shimmer and in the space between was an unfathomable heat. "TARA!" 

§§§ 

"What?! What? Willow are you okay?" 

Willow sat straight up in their bed panting, hot and covered in sweat. 

"Honey, are you okay? You screamed." 

"Did . . . Did I? Oh. I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," she answered staring straight ahead. 

Tara gently laid a hand on Willow's shoulder. Hissing, she flinched. "Um, how . . .how 'bout I get you something to drink, okay?" 

"Tara, wait, I'm sorry." But she was already out of the bed. 

"No," she said turning, "it's okay, you need something to calm you. I don't mind getting it." 

Willow could still feel the heat from the Dream Tara's spell. Twice in one week she had been nearly killed in her dreams first by Angel and Spike now by Tara. 

Flopping onto the bed she wondered what was going cosmically wrong. 

Fin   
  
  
  



	3. Wag, Baby, Wag

Disclaimer: T'aint mine I tell ye. Belongs ta a feller named Joss Whedon an' some other folks. Now git, y'here?! 

Spoiler: After Life 

Couples: W/A, W/G, W/A/G 

IWD: Wag, Baby, Wag 

"You think you know the full import what you've done Willow. You can't know. While you may have power--" 

"I have more than power, Giles." 

"--you hardly have the experience to dabble in these kinds of magics. Raising someone from the dead," his voice went lower still, "is not like a transportation or even a transmogrification. You are messing with powers and magicks far beyond your ken--" 

"I know what I'm doing, Giles!" 

"-- and I want you to stop." He ended his pacing just a little ways away from her so that he could look out the kitchen window and at all his estranged children -- even the most unlikely of them. "Promise me you'll with this sort of magic. I should--" 

"No way!" 

"--extract one forbidding you from magic all together. You're using it far too much," he said gravely, anger returning as he thought of the things he'd seen her do since his return. 

Willow shook her head defiantly. "You are the one who's messing with things he doesn't understand, Giles. I'm a lot more powerful than you or anyone else thinks. You guys are just upset that I did what none of you could have done. What none of you had the courage to do." 

_Smack!_

Willow raised her hand to her red cheek, shocked. Tears of pain ran unbidden and unnoticed down her cheeks. "Giles?" 

"Stupid, stupid girl! Don't you know there are consequences?!" 

"Relax Giles." Willow turned at the new voice. "If she wants to play her own version of Wag the Dog let her." 

Letting out a shaky breath she breathed, "Angelus." 

He shook his head slowly. "Really is a slow learner, isn't she Giles," the dark vampire said. His voice was like ice water running down the raw nerves of her spine. The light seemed to flee his approach as he stalked closer and closer to her. "Wonder what we could do about that?" 

Giles was silent. 

In an impressive instant Angel had her pressed against the countertop. "Bet you would taste real good. All that power you say you have, the blind ego and naivete that's going get you killed," he whispered, licking the outer shell of her ear, "the stupidity and blindness?" He purred. 

"Giles!" 

The Watcher appeared behind Angel, glasses off, staring at the girl. 

"Help me," she whimpered, frightened beyond measure, "please." 

Angel pulled back from the redhead. Giles set his chin on the vampire's shoulder. "Save something for the trail," and kissed him quickly on the lips. He disappeared. 

"No! Giles!" she called hoarsely. "Giles!" 

"Yes?" 

Willow gasped. 

"You're quite right, Wills. Can't leave it like that, can I?" Their kiss was that much more savagely passionate. Frightening in its brutal intensity for, it was obvious, neither felt anything for the other. Angel's lips were bruised when the Englishmen broke it off. 

"Ripper?" 

Giles laughed. "You're right, Angel, she is a slow learner." 

§§§ 

Willow clutched her neck. Eyes wide-open in the dark, all she could make out were gray-scaled versions of Joyce's room. Suddenly a soft light filled the room. Looking at Tara, she smiled. Her girlfriend hadn't even winced. 

Very carefully, with gentle fingers on her now sensative neck, she felt for any scars. Well, there was that bump from before. Oh, and the scar that Oz gave her once when he accidently scratched her brushing her hair from her shoulder. She caressed it fondly. A yawn escaped her. Willow covered her mouth, she should go back to-- 

Her lips were wet. Why were her lips wet? 

Hand trembling, Willow raised her fingertips to her eyes. Were they red? She couldn't tell if they were red or not. It was too dark. She had to know if they were red. Shaking all over Willow climbed out of bed and went to the hall. 

She had found two mysterious dots of blood on her neck from no wound that she could see. Disturbed she didn't realize that lights she had conjured were long faded and failed to return at her next command. 

Fin   
  
  
  



	4. Wonted

Disclaimers, etc, in the first part 

In Willow's Defense: Wonted 

wonted- _attrib. adj._ habitual, usual 

Willow did an about face from the upturned bowl. "Oz!" 

"Yes, Will?" 

"I thought . . .I thought . . ." She knew she had released him from the scrying bowl. She had turned it over! The water was seeping into her socks as she stood there, staring at him. Besides, there shouldn't be a full body manifestation of him, just, you know, his head and maybe his shoulders. 

Very gently he placed his first two fingers under her chin and lifted, closing her open mouth. "Flies and all." 

"Huh?" 

Somewhere in the back of Willow's mind she was a little worried when he didn't give her his usual quirky grin but went on talking. "So you called." 

"But we talked." 

"Hmm, did we? It seemed kind of superficial to me." 

Willow raised a brow. "Superficial?" 

"It sounded like you wanted me to tell you how wonderful you are for bringing Buffy back." 

"Well, maybe not wonderful but I think I did a good job." 

Oz sat on the edge of the bed thinking. "I'm not so sure, Will." 

Her other eyebrow joined the first. "Not sure? What do you mean not sure? Do you know what I went through to get Buffy back? Do you have any idea?" 

"No. So because it was hard you think it was right." 

"Not exactly but--" 

"Couldn't it be that that's just the way it is. You wanna raise someone from the dead you've gotta go through some stuff. Look at Jesus, he had to die first." 

"I'm Jewish." 

"Are you sure?" 

Willow sat down in frustration. "Of course I'm sure." 

"I thought you were a Wicca." 

Exasperated she growled. Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow he and Giles die. "Yes, of course I'm Wiccan, Oz. Remember, witch?" 

"Then you can't be Jewish." 

"Huh?" 

" 'There shall not be found among you anyone who practices witchcraft, or a soothsayer, or one who interprets omens, or a sorcerer, or one who conjures spells, or a medium, or a spiritist, or one who calls up the dead.'" 

Willow sat stock-still, riveted as one of the longest sentences she'd ever heard from Oz poured fluidly from his lips. "What's that from." 

"Book of Deuteronomy. Took the Bible as Literature when I was still at Sunnydale U." 

Well that answered the other question she was going to ask. 

"Of course," he went on, "it's not a direct quote. There's this other stuff about making your kid a human sacrifice to Molech but it didn't apply." 

"Of course. So I'm not Jewish?" 

"Nope. Although you are up for a good stoning." 

Willow looked up at Oz, upset that he would joke about such a thing. He wasn't smiling and no part of his towel-bound self was laughing. "This is serious." 

"Yes it is." 

"I'm not Jewish." 

"I'm thinking you never were." 

"What?!" Now she stood, towering over him. This sitting at his feet stuff was crap. You weren't going to hear any 'Teach me, Rabbi's' from her. 

"I've been thinking about it for a long time. A lot of people treat Judaism as a race or something. There are lots of different kinds of Jews held together by religion but you've never been particularly religious." Willow mumbled something about her parents. "I mean, a lot of people who consider themselves Christians aren't. I suppose it's true for every major religion." 

Willow sputtered. "I don't care about everyone else's major religion, this is _my_ major religion we're talking about here. I'm stoneable." 

"Only in Biblical times. And the restored Israel of the not-too-near-or-far future." 

"But I _want_ to be Jewish." 

"Why. It never mattered to you before." 

Eyes wide she shot back, "Of course it did! How could you--" 

"No it didn't Will. It's okay. I just meant to point out you're not who you think you are." 

"Are you saying I don't know myself?" 

Oz shrugged. 

"Of course I know myself. How could I not know myself?" 

"You really should check your hats more often, Will." 

His words struck a deep chord within her. _You should check your hats more often_. Spike had said that to her, before . . .before . . .before . . . 

With a cry of frustration she futily stamped her foot. Oz looked on calmly. "How can you just sit there?!" 

"Oh Willow," he said on a sigh, cocking his head to one side, "what are they going to do with you?" 

"Wha--" before she noticed that, once again the scrying bowl was full and this time it was Oz turning over on it's side with his foot. 

§§§ 

It was still dark when Willow opened her eyes. _You should check your hats more often_, ran over and over in her head. Staring at the ceiling was making her thirsty. As she propped herself up on her elbows something wet and familiar slapped her face. Her hair. It was wet. 

Fin   
  



	5. Wax Poetica

Disclaimer in part 1. (the poem's mine) 

Couples: W/An/X, An/X, W/X, W/An 

IWD: Wax Poetica 

§§§ 

haunted 

i fell off the map of rhyme and reason 

not like i cared much 

can't say i cared at all 

when i was sitting on the cooling rock 

the heated rock 

letting the monsters that i make 

the creatures i let take me reshape me and define my insanity 

ah, insanity 

for one moment of pure clarity 

i'd let you haunt me like you do 

haunt me like you do freely 

not fighting 

i'm tired of fighting 

it's lonely 

and it's cold and i don't think i'll do it anymore 

§§§ 

"Xander, why are you looking at me like that? Xander, what's wrong?" 

There was something about the way he walked, like all his muscles had become liquid. He didn't walk to her so much as prowled. "Wrong, Wills? What makes you think something's wrong?" 

"I-I don't know," she answered, backing away. Something about the way he walked reminded her of . . .days gone by. But it couldn't be. That was so long ago and Giles had expelled the-- Her hand flew to her cheek as if expecting it to hurt. But there was nothing there. Of course. And there was nothing strange about Xander. Of course. Of cou-- "Oomph!" 

"Hey! Watch who you're stepping on!" 

Willow turned quickly. "Oh, Anya, I'm sorry. I-I didn't see you." 

"Well next time use your eyes. That's what they're there for. Unless of course you need a spell to see too." 

"Hey!" A purr sounded behind her "Eep!" 

"That wasn't nice Anya." Willow turned. Was it just her or were Xander's eyes a little orange? "Apt, but not nice." 

Anya gave him a brilliant smile. Sidestepping Willow, she wrapped her arms around Xander's neck. Swaying to their own music, they seemed to slowly melt into each other, become each other until when finally their lips met, it was the only thing left for them to do. They had to, there was no left of center, no plateau to come down. They had to peak. And Willow had to watch. They were animal in their grace and intensity. 

Was Xander growling? 

Anya pulled away. "Oh honey, I think we're leaving someone out." 

Looking over her shoulder, he grinned at Willow. "Mmm, I think we are." Xander held out one snakelike swaying hand, "Join us?" 

Willow found herself swaying with them, moving left and right, back and forth, enthralled by them. "Come on, Willow," Anya said silkily, looking over her shoulder, "you know you want to. Don't you want my Xander?" 

Somehow Anya's usually annoying talk wasn't so bothersome. It was enchanting. It didn't matter what Anya said so long as she and Xander didn't stop moving. 

"She's right, Wills, you know you want us." She shook her head slowly, slowly. "Who are you trying to convince Willow, us or you?" Anya nuzzled his neck until he moaned. 

"You're . . .you're," Willow fumbled for the words. "You're Hyena Xander!" 

Anya laughed against her fiancé's neck. "Score one for the witch. You think she'll play now?" 

"Don't know Ahn," Xander's long fingers twined in his lover's hair, "let's see if I can't persuade her." He slipped from Anya's grasp, stalking Willow. There was no place for her to go. "Hey, Wills," he purred. 

"Hey, Xander," she whispered, breathless, caught in his strangely golden brown eyes. 

"Wanna play?" 

"I-I don't think I should." 

"Aw, come on Willow, don't you want to play with us?" 

"I shouldn't," but his hands were already on her shoulders, his swaying hips making contact with hers. "You know you want to," he whispered in her ear, licking it, tasting it. "You know you want to." 

Willow felt another set of hands on her the back of her shoulders. "You know you want to," Anya whispered in her ear, touching Xander's tongue with her own. 

Ah, she wanted to. She wanted to. Willow let her head drift back onto Anya's shoulder as the sensually dangerous couple moved her to their hunter's beat. _If Xander's the Hyena_, she thought to herself, _then Anya must be a demon again._ But it became just another whisper in her head, joining the other whispers in her head. It didn't seem to matter so long as they didn't stop moving, so long as the incredible heat they enveloped her in didn't go. Mmm, no, no, it couldn't go the way Oz . . . She let the thought slide like water in her hand. Just another whisper in her head. _Let the punishment fit the crime._

Xander's hands slid up her body, pushing her shirt away from her skin. Anya took Willow's hands in her own and together they brought their hands up under his loose, silky shirt. Closer, closer, they had to have him closer to them. Inside them, surrounding them, he would devour them. 

_Let the punishment fit the crime. Let the punishment fit the crime._

"Now," Anya hissed over Willow's head, into her lover's ear. 

Willow caught sight of herself in a mirror across the hall. Flushed and needy, she watched Anya and Xander play with her, manipulate her: Xander with his head bent over her shoulder, Anya her face gross and ridged. 

"Now," the demoness hissed again. 

And suddenly Willow knew. Suddenly she could see it. On her head, in the mirror, was a black hat. _Let the punishment fit the crime. _"No!" she cried. 

Someone was screaming and screaming and screaming and Willow wished they would stop. Whoever it was screamed louder as the sound of bone crunching filled the room. 

"Let the punishment fit the crime!" Collapsing onto Anya, Willow realized she was the one screaming. She was the one. And Xander was eating her alive. 

§§§ 

"Willow! Willow! Oh my God, Dawn, call Giles. Tara, get some water. Willow, wake up." _Smack!_

"Tara, do you have the water, nothing's helping." 

Willow woke up, gasping and wet. "What . . .what's going on?" She was flung back onto the bed as Tara engulfed her in a hug. "What happened, why am I wet?" 

Meeting Tara's eyes, Buffy left the room to tell Dawn everything was okay. The blond turned back to her lover. "You were screaming. Again." 

"Oh, I'm sorry honey. But -- why am I wet?" 

"You were screaming, at the top of your lungs, for ten minutes. Straight. You kept screaming 'No' over and over again," she whispered. 

"Oh." 

"And this appeared while we were watching, me and Buffy and Dawnie." Slipping off the bed, Tara retrieved a hand mirror. 

Willow drew in a shaky breath. On her shoulder, from neck to the edge of her shoulder, all along her collar bone were very red, very distinct teeth marks. Human teeth marks. 

Fin   
  



	6. Untouchable Web

Disclaimer in Part One. No I don't own Garbage, although Shirley Manson's pretty cool. 

Couples: W/B weirdness (but isn't this whole thing weird?) 

IWD: Untouchable Web 

_Untouchable. You think you're untouchable. You know no one's untouchable._ Garbage; Untouchable; Beautiful Garbage 

"Hey, Buffy. Do you want some cocoa? Tara's trying to get me off coffee. You know, stop the bouncing and, and the jittering and the incessant chattering and, I think, the long run-on sentences but I could be wrong about that. I wonder if that means Tara's been buying decaf hot chocolate. Do they _have_ decaf hot chocolate?" Willow sat across from Buffy at the kitchen table, steaming cup in hand. "I'm sure they do. I mean, other people must be caffeine addicts too and have girl- or boyfriends who would prefer them to not talk endlessly or -- or giggle for no reason. Actually even I find that a little disconcerting. I don't know, does it bother you Buffy?" 

Willow looked up from her cup as she paused in her chatter. "Buffy?" The blond stared at her silent. "Oh, did I not let you get a word in edgewise? I'm sorry, Buff, I know we've been working on this whole back-into-human-emotions-thing and, and I'm not helping I'm sure. So is there anything you want to say?" 

Buffy stared at her with the cold eyes that Willow sometimes caught her using out her window or on the dishes when the she spaced out. 

"Hello, Buffy," she sing songed 

She blinked. Well, Willow thought somewhat uncharitably, at least she's not zoned out again. "Okay, I get it, this is the non-talking time. I can do that. I can not talk. I'll just sip my cocoa and . . . and stare at, uh, at the marshmallows while they melt," she said with her typical perkiness. Too bad she didn't feel that way. 

Had it always been this dark in here? Funny, Willow didn't feel like standing up and turning on a light. Buffy certainly didn't look like she was moving any time. It was all right though. It was all right. Somehow this, the dark, the silence even the hot chocolate in her hand, felt like it all belonged. 

She was still staring at Willow. Darn but this was becoming creepy. Willow wanted to giggle. She'd thought Darn. Placing her hand over her mouth, she started to but then . . . 

Willow was silenced by Buffy's unwavering stare, by those cold eyes not trained outside or on some nowhere place but on her. On Willow. 

Was it just her or was the silence alive? Goddess, she could swear it was a breathing, pulsating thing. She could feel it over her shoulder, snuffling her hair, smelling her cocoa, running incorporeal fingers along the back of her neck and down the backs of her arms. 

She had to turn around. She had to face the silence, the stillness. She had to know the air around her wasn't alive. But Buffy's eyes wouldn't let her go. Cold, cold and so dead they held her trapped like an icy blue cage. Pinned, Willow could not even release her hands from the cooling mug. Trapped between her Buffy's cold eyes and the stillness surrounding them Willow felt her heart race and her chest rise and fall, rapid, fearful. 

Fight or flight. Fight or flight. She had to choose. She had to choose! 

Willow could not choose for she had no choices. Buffy would not let her go and Willow could not speak, could not raise her hands, could not sigh and break the silence. If only she could do something so little as sigh she would be free but Buffy would not let her be free. Willow was at Buffy's mercy and Buffy's mercy seemed to holding Willow in her gaze, a toy, a pawn, an exercise in miscellaneous power over the powerless, over she who could not speak for herself because Buffy would not let her speak! 

And Willow knew that she would go mad. 

It was if she weren't sitting at all. She couldn't feel the chair beneath her nor the table holding her arms. All Willow could feel was the gently frightening sensation of the living breathing silence touching her hands and face and calves and back. 

Willow remembered this feeling. It was like this whenever she was researching in the Sunnydale High library late at night, Giles gone off somewhere or other, Xander getting snacks with Oz, and Buffy on patrol. Suddenly the sound of the computer would fade and there would only be the oppressive silence weighing her down until Willow thought she would have to scream to make it go away, that bringing back noise would bring back her sanity. Those were the nights she stood up, pushed back her heavy wooden chair and call vainly into the night, Who's there, Who's there, half expecting the night to answer. Knowing that it could. 

Then Buffy would walk through the door with a, Hey Wills, and all would be right with the world. 

If only Buffy would-- 

She stood with such unexpectedness that Willow flinched. Suddenly the redhead found herself beside the table as if they had never been seated there that night, clutched in a tight hug with the Slayer. 

A tighter hug. A tighter hug. She couldn't breathe. "B-Buffy . . ." she croaked. 

"Untouchable," the Slayer whispered into the witch's quickly reddening ear as fiercely as her hug.. "You think you're untouchable. You know no one's untouchable." 

Willow stumbled back, released from the Slayer's deathly grip and gaze. She was alone. 

§§§ 

Her heart was beating out of control and she still felt like she couldn't breathe. Slowly, frightened for once in the waking world, she brought her hands to her throat. Hot. Looking over she made sure Tar-- 

Tara wasn't in bed. Furrowing her brow, Willow stepped out of bed. Maybe she was in the bathroom? Tara wasn't in the bathroom but in the mirror she more clearly see the redness covering her throat . . .and her face. Her face was flushed. "As if I couldn't breathe." Even her voice surprised her, rasping painfully. 

Maybe it was time to tell the others. 

"Buffy?" she called softly, not wanting to disturb Dawn and Tara wherever she was. "Buffy?" She wasn't in her room. 

Dawn wasn't in hers and Tara was no where to be found. 

Worried now, really worried for the first time since the first dream with Angel and Spike, she dialed Xander and Anya. _"Hello you've reached Xander and Anya--"_

_"Soon to be married--"_

_"Jeez Ahn, announce it to the whole world now will you?"_

_"You don't want people to know about us?"_

_"Anya, honey, of course I do. I just don't think we should be freely announcing this over our answering machine."_

_"But, but--"_

__Willow left a message. Should she call Giles? No! Stupid! What was she thinking. She'd use magic to find them. "I mean, if I could raise Buffy from the dead why can't I find out where they are? It's such a simple spell," she said running upstairs. Why do things the normal way, after all, and freaking Giles out when she could just figure things for herself? 

§§§ 

". . .so mote it be!" 

The Summer's house was gone. 

Fin   
  



	7. Wither Wilt Thou Goest?

Disclaimer in pt. 1. 

Note: thank you to the few people who read this and enjoyed it, especially to Mats Forsen who made me realize I hadn't posted the whole thing! 

IWD: Wither Wilt Thou Goes? 

§§§ 

A thousand voices surrounded Willow, whispering, understanding coming in snatches of words, of phrases. She felt . . .cold almost, but not quite. And heavy, as if something were holding her down. Slowly she opened her eyes. 

"The prisoner awakes," a loud vaguely female voice boomed to Willow's right. Attempting to raise her hand and wie the residue of her sleep? from her eyes, she discovered she was shackled. The chain ran from one manacle down to the floor and ring embedded in it, up to the other manacle. It was long enough to give her ample freedom of movement -- Willow believed that she could stand and raise both hands over her head if she wished -- but they were heavy and cumbersome. And made of iron. She couldn't magick her way out of these. 

"What's going on here?" Willow's voice sounded far more stable than she felt. 

"If I were you, pet," she turned in shock, becoming aware of her surroundings, and the people that inhabited it, slowly, "I'd be a bit more cooperative." 

"Spike?" 

"A good dose of fear won't hurt her either," Angel said from her other side. 

As if a picture held to close to her eyes had suddenly been pulled away, giving her a view of the real world, Willow suddenly saw that the three of them were standing -- well she was sitting -- inside a wooden box-thing. Although she did not look back she got the impression that the structure was only three-sided, that if she weren't chained she could easily turn around and leave this place. If Angel and Spike didn't get to her first. Through the carved bars a sea of faces stared back. A sea of familiar faces. There seemed to be a dozen Taras, Dawns, Anyas and Xanders staring back at her, whispering behind their hands and making gestures in her general direction. There were even a handful of Giles, Wesleys, Faiths and Cordelias. And was that Oz? There seemed to be only one of him. 

On a bench in front of the gathered audience, on the other side of the low wood fence, with her in the court was Buffy, the only one that didn't seem to have multiples. And of course there were Angel and Spike by her side, her undead guards. 

"It's another dream. I never woke up," Willow assured herself. 

"Hardly," the strange, multi-tonal, vaguely female voice said. 

Willow looked to her right, and gasped. "Mrs. Summers?" 

"No," the judge wearing Joyce Summers' face said, "this is merely the form I have taken for this trial. Those out in the audience have also taken the form of thine friends." 

"Where are they?" Willow demanded of the as yet unnamed power. 

"Only the vampires, Slayer and Werewolf are here in person," she/it went on as if she had not spoken. 

Willow felt herself growing angry, felt the power well within her. "Where are my friends? When I woke from my dream they were gone. What did you do with them?"  
"They are here. In part," the thing who wore Joyce Summers' body so well. It was a little strange. "It was necessary, for the magic, to posses thine friends' bodies so that they might be cloned as we saw fit. Each person in the audience who bears one of thine friends' faces owns some part of them. We need only one living cell to reconstruct their being." 

"Why not just use a glamour?" she accused. 

"Why not just let the Slayer stay dead?" she/it shot back confidently. 

"We needed Buffy back!" Willow covered her mouth. No, she couldn't have meant to say that. "We loved her and missed her." 

"Thee spokest true the first time, Willow. Thee brought back the Slayer out of selfish need. Is there not a way to call another slayer to take the place of the one ye had lost?" 

"But Faith is still alive. Another won't be called until she dies." 

The Judge leaned over the side of her/its stand. "And the thought of killing Faith crossed thine mind, didst not?" 

_No!_ "Yes," Willow heard herself answer solemnly. Once more her hand traveled like lightning to her lips. "No! That's not true. How are you making me say these things?" she demanded. 

"Thee art under a geis to speak truth whilst arraigned before this council." 

"But I never thought of killing Faith!" 

With a wave of her/its hand, the Judge brought before the court a still of Willow some weeks after Buffy's death. "Dost thee remember this moment?" 

"I-I'm not sure." Willow felt a distinct urge to bite her nails. 

"Let us watch then." With another wave of her/its hand, the scene started. 

Suddenly Willow was both inside the moment and watching it from her guarded box. Packing away some odds and ends she had come across a rare picture of Buffy and Faith together. She could not remember where or when it had been taken or even who had taken the picture. _If only she were dead_ came clearly to Willow's mind. 

The scene stopped. The picture was just a picture, not even a still, and Willow's consciousness inhabited the body in the box. Willow shook her head slowly. She looked first to Angel then Spike but neither would meet her gaze. Despite the familiar faces in the audience, their eyes were alien, and like the vampires, Buffy would not meet her eyes. But Oz looked at her. Oz stared at her dead on, willing her to do something, to be someone genuine, to . . .to . . .to come out on top, one way or another. 

"It is all right," the Judge spoke, it's multi-tonal voice somehow comforting. "We have all had stray thoughts. None is perfect. We do not judge on this one thought, but rather from where this thought stems. 

"Thee have been tested night after night for a five-day. The vampires have come to thee, thy lover, the Watcher, the Wolf, the Demon, the Soldier and the Slayer and yet thee hast found no repentence in the face of their accusations. Thee hast no guilt at all! Night after night, even as the evidence of the dreams have become part of thine waking-world you refuse to see the message each sends. Headstrong and foolish in thine abilities thee hast not even told thine lover of your night terrors. 

"Are these thy friends, then, whom thee proclaim to love yet manipulte for thine own will and ignore at thy fancy? Thee pushes all help away from thee, traveling farther and farther down the path of destruction and call it thine supremacy of all that is. Sound advice is given thee and thee makest threats under thine breath. Not idle threats, threats whose idea are, at this very moment, taking root in thy mind. 

"Thee who hast proclaimed to be a white-hat must then be judged by a council of white-hats for thy actions, for thy perversion of our way." 

Willow felt the tears hovering on spill, held in her eye by surface tension, will, and not blinking. "How are you going to judge me?" She couldn't stop her voice from wavering. Who will stand in my defense?" 

The Judge turned her/its attention to the audience. "Who will stand in Willow's defense?" 

Oz rose from his aisle seat in the first row of the audience. "I will." 

"The Wolf, hereby recognized as Oz, as is his name of preference, will stand in Willow's defense. So let it be written." The Judge turned back to Willow. "We are not like thine Earth-bound court. What thee seest here is a manifestation of what we truly are. The error thee hast committed is grievous, and many that thee think thee seest here visit from the Astral Plane. We shall argue thy case in private and come back with a decision." 

"What?!" 

"Oz, as thy representation, shall speak for thee." She/it turned back to the audience, addressing Buffy in particular, "The Slayer mayst speak for herself, if she so wishes, as the crimes are, in particular, against her. Dost thee wish to have another speak in thy defense Slayer?" 

Buffy rose from her bench within the actual court. "No, Your Honor. I'll speak for myself." She remained standing. 

"The Slayer, hereby recognized as Buffy, as is her name of preference, will stand in her own defense. So let it be written. Let the hearing commence." 

And without flash or fanfare or anything else that would have made it special, the entire court, including the audience, were gone. Willow was left in her carved cell with her guards. She realized she was no longer chained when she sank her head into her hands. _Probably because there's no place for me to go, 'specially with Spike and Angel playing babysitter_, she thought perversely. Longingly she wished for her long hair and the curtain it once provided. Raising both hands to the top of her head, Willow drew them down over her hair. Nothing happened. She felt the unspent energy of the glamour underneath her fingertips, ready to be used as she saw fit but, running her hands down once more, could not force it into being. 

"Nuh uh uh," Angel teased, "no magick for little old you until the council has a verdict." 

"Aww," Spike joined in, "looks like Red here's gonna cry." 

She did. 

Willow was flicked, none-too-gently, on the back of her neck when the court returned. 

"Thee will conduct thyself in a manner befitting this court, Vampire. Understood?" 

Spike nodded gracefully to the Judge, trying, as the others were, to ignore the familiarity of her/its face. "Yes, Your Honor. My apologies to the court." 

She/It nodded her acceptance. "This court has reached its decision. Willow, stand." 

It was only at this command that Willow noticed that the returned court looked very much like the departed one. Oz and Buffy still stood in their respective places, the see of familiar faces still whispered behind their hands, and her wrists were once again manacled. 

"As I stated, the court has come to a decision, Willow. Oz argued eloquently on your behalf as did, suprisingly, Buffy. You owe them much. Nearly your very life. But your crime was grievous. You have dabbled in magicks beyond your ken without either precaution or advisement of one older and wiser. You did not, as they say in your world, cover your back. You must pay." 

Willow's eyes swept over the courtroom until, finally, the locked on Oz's. 

Joyce Summers eyes glowed with the light of a millenium of magickal fires."Willow Rosenberg," she proclaimed in a booming voice, for all the universe to hear, "you have been weighed and measured and you have been found wanting. Let the punishment fit the crime." The manacles fell off with a loud clang. 

_"Let the punishment fit the crime_," everyone, save Willow, repeated. 

The Judge turned to her, her/its voice tender once more. "Ah, Willow. We had such hope for thou. Wither wilt thou goest now?" She/It stood. Angel and Spike stepped away from Willow, as if afraid that whatever judgement was meted out would fall on them if they stood too close. "So mote it be!" 

The courtroom was gone. 

§§§ 

"What's wrong with her?" 

Tara looked from her girlfriend, sitting crosslegged on what was now their bed in Buffy's house, staring at nothing. "I don't know, Dawnie. Is Buffy back yet?" 

Dawn nodded. "Yeah, she's downstairs making the tea right now. She said to tell you it'll be done in, like, a minute." 

Tara's smile was only half-hearted. When she had awoken Willow was as they saw her now, cross-legged, staring into space, unresponsive. That had been some time around five this morning. Tara didn't know what had woken her so early but she was glad it had. Glancing over at the clock on the nightstand she saw it was eight. "You should get to school Dawn. If you rush you won't be late." 

"But I want to stay here with you and figure out what's wrong with Willow." 

Tara shook her head gently. "If Willow were okay she'd say the same thing. Now go." 

Seeing that the blond wasn't going to give in and dawdling would only get her in trouble once she got to school, Dawn turned on her heel and left the room with just enough pomp and circumstance to let Tara know she wasn't happy. 

"Buffy!" 

"Tell Tara it's almost ready!" she called back from the kitchen. 

"Tell her yourself, I'm going to school." 

"Oh," Buffy popped out of the kitchen. "Um, okay. I'll pick you up, okay? And if anything happens to Willow I'll call the school and let you know okay? Get you out of class for a minute or two and everything." 

It was the best she was going to get, Dawn knew, but that didn't mean she had to make it easy. "Oh, all right." She walked sullenly down the hall and to the door. One hand on the nob she complained, "Why do you guys always have to treat me like a kid?!" 

"Because technically you still are!" Buffy called, halfway up the stairs. 

"Oh!" Dawn angrily yanked open the door and nearly collided with another human being. "Oz?" 

"Hey . . .Dawn. Long time no see. Is Willow here?" 

"Uh, yeah. I thought you were in Nepal or something. Willow's sick, did you hear?" 

"Yeah, I know." 

"You know? But you've been, like, noncomm for months. We couldn't even send you a message that Buffy had died--" 

Oz pushed past Dawn and ran up the stairs. Unerringly he found Willow with Buffy and Tara as her nursemaids. 

"Oz!" they exclaimed together. 

"I know what's wrong with, Willow." 

"What?" Tara looked from Buffy to Oz. "How?" 

"I was there, so were you Buff." Slowly he made his way to Willow's side. Tara backed away. "All her magick's gone. Been taken away," he murmured. Gingerly he touched his knuckles to her cheek. 

Willow's eyes flickered, the muscle beneath her cheek jumped. She turned toward the source of contact. "Oz?" 

"I'm here baby." 

End Series 


End file.
